


Clara and The Doctor Who...

by zombiechick



Series: The Doctor Who... [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-24 14:30:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4923181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombiechick/pseuds/zombiechick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just fluffiness that becomes smut.  My usual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Baked Some Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to my "The Doctor Who..." story. The Doctor is obsessing over ginger biscuits. This, obviously, leads to smut.

Clara sat amidst a large pile of grading. She desperately wanted some tea but refused to allow herself that luxury before finishing the 5th form essays in front of her.

She smiled as a familiar hand pushed aside one completed pile of essays to deposit a cup of tea at her elbow.

"I put a bit of milk in it," the Doctor told her. "But, you seemed to be out of biscuits."

"Are you able to just read my mind now?" 

"You make me sound like a magician, Clara," the Doctor huffed.

"If the silk-lined jacket fits..." she laughed.

The Doctor gave a bark of laughter, "Very funny," he responded, giving her a good-natured scowl. "I can't just read the mind of anyone," he explained, "but, if someone has allowed me inside..."

Clara quirked an eyebrow.

"I wasn't being literal, Clara," the Doctor chuckled. "Although, in this case," he continued, "I suppose that I can be." He leaned down, placing a hand on the armrest of her office chair and brushing the other through her hair. Gripping her tresses lightly, he pulled her to him for a soft kiss.

Clara's hands shot out to grab up handfuls of his hoodie and pushed harder against him. She nipped at his lips, and used her tongue, to try to convince the Doctor to deepen the kiss .

After one more languid swipe of his mouth, the Doctor pulled back, panting a bit, and pointed to the tea, "You should drink that before it gets cold," he told her.

Clara's eyes went wide with disbelief as the Doctor turned to leave the room, "Where...?" she began.

"I don't want to be a disruptive influence," he answered her.

"Yes you do," she countered.

"I'll see you when I see you," the Doctor threw over his shoulder. 

Moments later, Clara heard the TARDIS leaving.

"Bollocks," she spat and then, with a groan of annoyance, returned to her grading.

 

DW12DW12DW12DW12

"Do you know how to make Ginger Nuts?" The Doctor asked quite out of the blue.

"Wha?" Clara asked him as she worked at pulling bits of twigs and dirt from her hair.

"You know," The Doctor clarified, "Ginger biscuits. Do you know how to make them?" He pulled a few levers on the TARDIS and then bent down to ruffle his fingers through his hair- dislodging several bits of moss and twigs from his curls.

"We've just run for our lives, trying to escape a race of humanoid beetles, whose queen you managed to supremely wind up at her coronation, and you're asking about Ginger biscuits?!" Clara asked incredulously.

"I only asked about the size of her exoskeleton," The Doctor defended himself, "I had no idea the question would be seen as so highly offensive." He pushed several buttons, setting coordinates, "And we escaped. So, yes, I'm asking about Ginger biscuits."

Clara guffawed and, throwing up her hands, left the TARDIS control room in search of a shower.

"Does that mean you don't know how to make Ginger Nuts?" The Doctor called after her retreating form.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara finally acquiesces to The Doctor's request for biscuits.

"I was thinking that we should head back to Phenylket Prime," Clara suggested as she sidled up to The Doctor while he puttered with buttons on the TARDIS controls. "Wouldn't you love to go wind up the general again? See if all his fur has grown back yet?"

The Doctor gave Clara a sly toothy smile, thinking about her proposal, "Naaw," he answered finally, "I've got a better idea."

"What?" she asked with enthusiasm; The Doctor rarely disappointed- his ideas were usually worth a trip.

"Let's go to your place," he answered as he typed in coordinates for London.

"My flat?" she asked incredulously.

"Yeah," he gave her a toothy grin, "you can make me some biscuits."

"Are you still on about the Ginger Nuts?!" she asked, her shoulder slumping and a look of disbelief crossing her face.

"I've been craving them for ages," he explained.

"So," Clara countered, "we'll stop at a bakery."

The Doctor grabbed her by the waist and pulled her to him, "They'll taste so much better if you make them," he murmured, placing kisses on her neck and shoulder.

"Oi, give me a break," she laughed though his tactics were obviously working. The Doctor waggled his eyebrows at her and Clara gave in with a sigh, "Alright, alright."

"You're so easy," he teased and kissed her mouth softly.

"Yeah, well lucky for you," she grinned.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We finally get cooking...

Walking into her flat, Clara tossed her bag onto the couch. The Doctor followed close behind her. Unzipping his hoodie, he fell onto the couch, stretching his long legs the length of it. Tucking his hands behind his head, he grinned at Clara.

"Well, I'll just go put on my pearls and apron, shall I?" she huffed.

"Might be a bit dangerous, working around a hot stove in just that," The Doctor observed as he pulled a guitar magazine from his back pocket and settled in to read.

A mischievous look crossed Clara's face. She knelt on the carpet, her view of The Doctor's face obscured by the well-creased magazine. Placing her hands on his knees, and moving her fingers up his thighs she asked, "Was it just the biscuits that you had in mind?"

The Doctor turned a page, seemingly unfazed by Clara's hands steady ascent up his trouser clad thighs, "That should do me, yeah."

Clara growled with frustration and quickly stood up to disappear into the kitchen. Not sure why she was just giving in to The Doctor's childish request, she started taking mixing bowls and measuring cups from the cupboards, making sure to bang the doors nice and hard to voice her annoyance.

As she bent over the surface, open cook book in front of her, she felt a pair of familiar hands on her backside. "I could always provide a bit of entertainment while you bake," The Doctor offered. Clara moaned as he stepped in closer, pulling her close against him, his fingers moving up under her sweater to stroke her lower back.

Clara bit at her lower lip and said impertinently, "No, thank you, now you've made me want biscuits as well." 

The Doctor moved to grind against her, his fingers playing with the clasp at the back of her bra, "You're sure about that, my Clara?"

Clara gritted her teeth, he knew what that term of endearment did to her when delivered by his rough Scottish brogue, "Yep," she managed to choke out.

"Fair enough," he stated before quickly backing away from her and returning to his post on the couch.

Once he was out of the room, Clara allowed herself a low moan. She squeezed her thighs together, trying to dispel the warm feelings that The Doctor's attentions had caused. Concentrating on the recipe, she started to measure out ingredients. Reaching into the fridge, she was happy to find that she did indeed have eggs.

Turning back to the surface where she'd placed her mixing bowl, Clara remembered a time on the TARDIS when The Doctor had moved behind her like he'd just been doing. Leaning her across the control console, quickly pushing up her skirt and pulling away her knickers, he'd thrust into her, hard and fast. Looking toward the doors of the TARDIS, that he'd purposefully left open, Clara watched a star being born at the same time that his clever fingers had moved against her wet sex. He'd brought her to her climax while swirling colors, unlike any she'd ever seen before, had danced before her in the blackness of space.

Clara took a deep breath and went back to the recipe. Pouring a rounded teaspoon of golden syrup into the mixing bowl, Clara licked off a dribble that stuck to the end of her finger. Once, during an impromptu picnic, The Doctor had poured honey, or what passed for it on the planet of Viscavion, all over her naked breasts and licked it slowly from her nipples and flesh while three suns bathed them in warm afternoon light. Clara bit down on her finger as the feelings of that particular memory washed over her.

Trying to shake the waves of heat that were suffusing her body, Clara turned away from the surface quickly, only to knock a measuring cup to the floor. It clattered loudly against the tile and The Doctor's voice came in from the living room, "Alright in there?"

"Fine," Clara answered him from between gritted teeth.

Pouring the egg in with the dry ingredients, Clara quickly whisked the mixture. The movement of her hand made her think of The Doctor's strong forearms. Remembering times that he would roll his shirt sleeves up, while working out a particularly difficult mechanical problem, she imagined him holding a tool, maybe a paddle of sorts. His arm would swing back, the instrument held tightly in those clever fingers as it swung down on her bare backside. She jumped at the image, "Where the bloody hell did that come from?" she wondered, panting with the heat that was racing through her.

"Need a hand?" The Doctor called to her from the couch, sounding far too innocent.

Clara clutched at the edge of the surface, running one hand through her hair, "Oh, you clever boy," she whispered to herself, suddenly realizing what he was up to. "All under control," she called back, "or will be," she muttered to herself with a mischievous grin.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cookies allow for thirteen minutes of smut.

Clara focused on the morning after she and The Doctor had cuddled; she played it out slowly in her mind. Remembering how she had only gotten a few blocks away on her motorbike before yelling, "Sod it!" into the early morning air, turning around to return to her flat, to The Doctor. The anticipation she felt while riding the lift, using a raspy voice, and a few coughs, to sound sick while calling in to the Headmaster, hoping The Doctor would still be lying in her bed. She did her best to communicate the sheer joy she'd felt when she opened the door to find him there.

Clara heard a low chuckle and a sentimental little "Awww," coming from the living room.

Then Clara focused on the scarves. She thought about how she had enjoyed wrapping the silky material around his wrists. The feeling of power that had coursed through her as she'd pulled them tight. His begging eyes and pleading tones as she had teased him. Then she imagined that the scarves were actually manacles made of black leather, lined with some sort of soft fur. In her mind, The Doctor's ankles were encased in a matching pair of leather cuffs that were secured to the foot board. Clara imagined her long, brightly painted, fingernails dragging down his chest to score his skin as she straddled his bare thighs.

She laughed outright as she heard an uncharacteristic curse, and the sound of boots hitting the floor, reach her ears from the direction of her couch. Clara placed the pan of cookies in the oven and set the timer, all the while listening to The Doctor's heavy tread as it quickly traversed the hallways and he entered the kitchen.

Clara placed dirty dishes in the sink, grinning, her back to the doorway. She stopped as The Doctor stepped up close behind her and leaned down to whisper into her ear, "Clever girl," he rasped.

"Hmmm?" Clara asked noncommittally.

The Doctor gave a low chuckle and skimmed his hands up Clara's legs, his fingers moving under the hem of her skirt to brush her thighs. "So, you'd like to cuff me?" he asked in what sounded an almost conversational tone if it weren't for the thickness of his voice.

Clara shuddered as The Doctor's hot breath brushed her neck. "Like you'd complain," she said breathily as he took her earlobe between his teeth.

The Doctor sucked on her flesh, dispelling the slight teeth marks that he'd left behind. "Control freak," he laughed as he reached around to unbutton her blouse.

"Biscuits," Clara moaned as he palmed her breasts, teasing her nipples to peaks through the dark material of her bra.

"Can't say I'm familiar with that particular sex act," The Doctor joked. 

"They're done in thirteen minutes," Clara explained as she pushed back, grinding her ass against The Doctor's groin. 

"Then they'll have to cool," he answered her.

Smiling, Clara turned around and grabbed The Doctor by the wrists, pushing him back until he sat in the kitchen chair. "I thought you wanted biscuits, not me," she said as she sat down, straddling his thighs.

"I want both," he answered her as his hands pushed her cardigan and blouse from her shoulders. Clara moaned as he mouthed a nipple through the thin material of her bra.

"Greedy," she murmured as she pulled his ragged jumper out of the way so that she could access his buckle. 

The Doctor moaned as Clara unbuckled his belt and pulled the zip down on his trousers. Reaching into his boxers, she pulled out his hard member and stroked him lightly while leaning forward to catch his mouth in a soft kiss.

When he moved his hands under her skirt to slide his hands over her knicker-covered ass, Clara broke the kiss, "Hands behind your back, Doctor."

He grinned, "Yes, Boss," and moved to hold the chair legs.

Moving her skirt still higher, and shedding both her blouse and cardigan, Clara arranged herself on The Doctor's lap so that his shaft was cradled by her thighs. Clara leaned forward, placing both hands on his shoulders for leverage, and caught his mouth in a kiss. Her lips moved slowly against The Doctor's, alternately licking and biting his lower lip.

Her hands slid over his shoulders and up his neck. Clara buried her fingers in his hair, gripping and tugging to move his head while she kissed him. The Doctor's eyes remained open, watching every movement of Clara's body as she writhed on his lap. Her breasts brushed against him. He fancied that he could feel her taught nipples through both his jumper and the t-shirt beneath it.

Clara's ass resting against his thighs, grinding down in his lap, made his eyelids flutter. He felt completely surrounded by his beautiful Clara. All of his senses filled with the nearness of her, his impossible girl.

The Doctor thrust his hips, gaining some modicum of satisfaction by moving himself against Clara. Looking over her shoulder at the kitchen timer, he could see that they had less than a minute before the biscuits would be done. He groaned into the kiss, his knuckles going white as he gripped the chair legs, and tried to thrust more quickly between Clara's soft thighs. 

He opened his mouth, moaning loudly as his eyes slipped close, thrusting his tongue between Clara's lips, kissing her hard. Clara sucked on his tongue as she squeezed her legs together, moving on The Doctor's lap. Just as he was fearing that he might snap the chair in two, sending them both to the tile floor, the kitchen timer went off.

Clara quickly broke the kiss and moved out of The Doctor's lap, turning around to grab the baking mitts off the surface nearest the oven. "Biscuits are done," she panted, throwing him a cheeky smile.

The Doctor threw his head back dramatically. "Clara," he moaned.

Laughing she grabbed up a spatula, "Just need to get these on the cooling rack and put in the next batch," she consoled him, "then you'll get another thirteen minutes."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another batch of biscuits done.

The Doctor tucked himself away and zipped his trousers. Standing up, he stalked toward Clara as she finished placing the biscuits on the cooling rack. He eyed the curve of her backside as she bent over to put the next batch in. 

He was just about to grab Clara's ass when she shut the oven door and quickly spun around to stop his movements with the spatula pressed against his chest. "Who said you were allowed out of your chair?"

The Doctor tried to laugh it off, "Come on, Clara, you're getting a grease mark on my favorite t-shirt," but she wasn't having it.

"Turn around," she commanded him as she pressed the spatula harder against his chest.

The Doctor was momentarily worried about what she planned to do with the spatula but acquiesced when she gave him a naughty little grin. "Okay," he murmured, feeling excited, despite his protests, at not knowing what was going to happen.

"Hands behind your back," Clara instructed him as she put her hands on his shoulders and then dragged them down his back to catch his wrists in one hand.

The Doctor heard a kitchen drawer open and then felt his wrists being tied together by something that felt soft, and rather frilly, "What the...?" he asked, looking over his shoulder to find that Clara was tying his hands with, "Apron strings?" he asked incredulously. "Actual apron strings?!"

Clara laughed suddenly, just having caught on to the connotation of her chosen restraints, "I'm not being figurative," she assured him, "it's just what's at hand. Of course, if you're wanting to stop..." she tugged at the knot that secured his wrists.

The Doctor stood up straighter and offered his hands without further complaint.

"If you're a good boy," she told him as she grabbed his hair and pulled lightly so that he bent his ear down to her mouth level, "I'll make a trip to Soho later and buy you some proper cuffs. Leather, I'm guessing," she purred. The Doctor's answering groan told her that she had guessed correctly.

"Can I talk or is that...well...," he stammered, unsure of Clara's rules.

Clara laughed, "I don't know that you're capable of silence. Let's keep this light, rather than actually torturing you. You can talk but, if you say anything that I don't like, I'll let you know." She pushed him back to sit in the kitchen chair, "Your safe word is 'jelly baby."

He laughed and, checking the timer, noted that they only had an obnoxiously short ten minutes before this batch of biscuits was done. 

The Doctor tapped his foot happily as he watched Clara kneel on the floor in front of him. His bright eyes, wide and alert, watched her unbutton his trousers once again and slide the zipper down. Clara held his gaze as she leaned forward and, pulling his jumper and undershirts out of the way, placed a soft kiss on his lower belly. 

His stomach muscles quivered as Clara dragged her mouth down and over to his hip. Her hands gripped his knees and then slid up his thighs as she took the waistband of his boxers between her teeth and yanked them lower. The Doctor threw his head back against the kitchen chair and groaned, "Clara."

Her eyes twinkled with laughter as her fingers grabbed at his boxers and pulled them away from his body. The Doctor's hardened member came free from the confines of his pants and lay heavily against his stomach. Clara moved forward to place soft kisses along the underside of his shaft as her thumb stroked the base. Several sharp ripping sounds cut through the silence of the kitchen as The Doctor's shoulders flexed hard against the chair, "Sorry," he ground out between clenched teeth.

She gave him a warning glance, a smile playing around her lips. But then her tongue snaked out and she licked up the length of his shaft; his transgression obviously forgiven. The Doctor clenched his fists, pressing his wrists together to keep himself from ripping his restraints away entirely. He gave a shuddering groan, licking his lips as he watched Clara slide the head of his cock between her lips. 

Clara's hands slid around The Doctor's hips, holding on tightly, as she developed a rhythm. Taking the entirety of his hardened length into her warm mouth, she used an impossibly light touch barely making contact with her lips and tongue. The lack of pressure, coupled with the image of Clara kneeling before him, created a wonderfully, horrible, tension in The Doctor's lanky frame.

He was seriously considering begging, it had worked the last time, his resolve nearly broken, when his eyes fell on the oven timer. "Two minutes," he almost screeched.

Clara sat back on her feet, The Doctor sliding completely from her mouth, "What?" she laughed.

"I didn't," The Doctor swallowed hard, "I didn't mean for you to stop," he almost whined.

Clara looked over her shoulder, "Biscuits are nearly done," she commented before standing up and walking to the sink. Filling a glass with water from the tap, she turned around to gaze upon the disheveled, and panting, Time Lord. 

"Clara," The Doctor pleaded, obviously at a loss for words. The answering smile that she gave him was wicked enough to strike fear into his hearts and he'd gone up against the Daleks.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another batch of cookies done.

The Doctor watched as Clara placed another batch of biscuits in the oven, feeling a bit ridiculous sitting in her kitchen, tackle out. She paused, after closing the oven door, and turned around to face The Doctor. Her stillness made him chuckle nervously. "Still here," he practically chirped, his knees bobbing with pent-up energy.

Clara smiled as she kicked off her shoes. Her bra was next to go, flung into a conveniently placed laundry basket that sat in the unoccupied kitchen chair. The Doctor's knees were going double time now, his face lit up with a happy grin, his eyes hooded with desire. Clara unzipped her skirt, it joined the rest of the laundry in the basket. The Doctor openly admired Clara's form, her standing in the kitchen wearing nothing but a pair of silk knickers.

Sauntering over to the chair where The Doctor was still happily tied, Clara bit at her lower lip, raking her eyes over his straining form. His shoulders tense, panting slightly, his tongue running over dry lips, The Doctor waited to see what his Clara had in mind. Standing so that she trapped one of his jiggling knees between her legs, Clara reached forward to grab up a fistful of The Doctor's jumper. She pulled him forward until he stood up from the chair, hands still behind his back.

Clara's hand moved under his jumper and layers of t-shirts to caress his bare chest. The Doctor leaned forward to rest his forehead against Clara's hair, moaning. She stepped closer to him, wrapping her arms around his torso, her hands splayed across his lower back, and reached up for a kiss. The Doctor's eyes slid closed as Clara's mouth moved against his. Her bare breasts brushed against his lower belly, causing his stomach muscles to quiver. 

He counted in his head, just reserving the tiniest corner of his consciousness to keep track of the kitchen timer. It wasn't difficult to register the ticking of the seconds, even though Clara was doing such a lovely job of distracting him. The Doctor had more than enough brain power for numerous calculations. He wanted to time things just right. He knew that he would have to ratchet up Clara's frustration to a much higher level to get what he, ultimately, wanted. 

Luckily, Clara was much too busy sucking and biting on The Doctor's neck to realize that he was plotting anything. He stepped forward with one leg, easily sliding it between Clara's thighs, to give him a bit of leverage. It wasn't the same as having the use of his hands but, when he arched his foot, The Doctor was able to throw Clara forward so that she was pressed, heavily, against his chest.

One of Clara's hands snaked into The Doctor's hair so that she could pull back, hard enough to gain a bit of control back. "It's always a competition with you, yeah?" she smiled before pressing a, slightly harder than comfortable, bite where The Doctor's neck met his shoulder.

He groaned, halfway between pleasure and pain, "You're a worthy opponent, my Clara."

Clara did a little spin and sat down in the chair, placing The Doctor to stand in front of her. She placed a warm kiss on his lower stomach, her breath hot against his cock. The Doctor could only watch, slightly open mouthed, hoping that she would return to her previous activity. He instinctively knew not to ask, Clara was in control after all, and so he managed to remain silent save for several sighs as her mouth ghosted around his hard member.

With a final kiss to the head of his cock, Clara commanded, "Kneel."

"Yes, Boss," The Doctor answered her and quickly dropped to his knees in front of her.

One hand wrapped around the back of his neck, Clara pulled him forward. He scooted on his knees along the floor until he was securely nestled between Clara's thighs. The Doctor was clever enough that Clara didn't need to give further directions. His chest against the chair between Clara's knees to give him some stability, The Doctor leaned forward to place soft kisses over Clara's knickers.

His eyes looked upward, trained on Clara's face, gauging her reactions as his lips brushed across her inner thighs. The Doctor knew he had exactly 432 seconds to drive Clara 'round the bend. He knew what Clara liked; she'd never been shy about telling him what to do. Smiling to himself, The Doctor flattened his tongue and licked over Clara's knicker-covered sex.

Clara groaned and pulled on his hair to direct his motions, "Harder," she breathed.

The Doctor grabbed the waistband of Clara's knickers with his teeth and tugged lightly, "Were you going to take these off or should I just...," he pulled harder on the silken material. 

"Don't you dare," she moaned, "those are my favorite pair."

The Doctor grinned and pulled them down further so that he could nose at the Clara's lower stomach, "They're very nice," he agreed.

Clara laughed and then grabbed at the troublesome garment herself, tugging them down and off her hips. The Doctor helped by catching the material in his mouth and helping them down her legs and over her knees. They dropped to the floor, forgotten, as he quickly moved between Clara's thighs, catching her unawares. She moaned loudly as The Doctor placed open mouthed kisses on her heated flesh.

He rubbed the sides of his face against her inner thighs, nuzzling her sex, making short swipes with his tongue against her lips. Clara's hands found their way back into The Doctor's hair, threading her fingers through his too-long curls groaning at the way his tongue dipped inside of her.

The Doctor's physical proximity to Clara made it especially easy to transmit images into her mind. He sent her feelings of emptiness at the same time that his tongue circled her, making short thrusts. The Doctor thought of the times that he had been inside Clara, focused on the feelings of fullness, his thrusting, her clenching flesh cradling his shaft.

Clara groaned loudly, "I see what," she bit at her lower lip, "I see what you're doing, clever boy," she smiled and continued to move her hips against The Doctor's mouth.

Smiling against her, The Doctor continued the countdown in his head. By his calculations, he had less than a minute before the timer went off again. He moved in even closer to Clara's hot flesh, pressing against her, his tongue plunging into her over and over again. Sliding his mouth still higher, he took Clara's hard clit between his lips and sucked on it gently.

Her fingernails pressed lightly into The Doctor's scalp. He could tell, by the shaking in her thigh muscles, that Clara was close to her release. He continued to lick and suck on her clit counting down in his head. The Doctor recognized the keening noises that Clara was making- he knew that she was close. Glancing up, he saw her eyes begin to slip closed, her breath quickening, her teeth worrying her lower lip, just as the biscuit timer went off.

With one final lick to her quivering flesh, The Doctor pulled out of Clara's grasp and sat back on his heels. "Biscuits are done," he grinned.

Her eyes slowly opened and she slumped back on her chair. Giving The Doctor a withering glare, she jumped up and slipped on the oven mitts to take the biscuits from the oven. Tossing the cooking tray on top of the stove and viciously twisting the knobs to the off position, Clara turned back around and grabbed up a fistful of The Doctor's t-shirts.

"The last batch can wait," she declared as she dragged him to her bedroom.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The biscuits are done.

After leading The Doctor into her bedroom by the front of his t-shirt, Clara turned around just as he was handing her a small article of clothing. The apron was neatly folded. "I'll mend the ripped seams," he promised her.

Clara merely laughed, shaking her head, "I think the only reason you like to be tied up is because it gives you a bigger win."

The Doctor shrugged, grinning at her, as he pushed Clara toward the bed, "You're complaining?" he asked, mimicking her earlier comment in the kitchen.

"Course not," she smiled back.

He stepped back, pulling his t-shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor. Clara moved back on the bed, watching him. The Doctor took off his boots and socks and climbed onto the bed, crawling toward Clara with a predatory grin on his face. 

Dropping his head down, The Doctor placed soft kisses on Clara's stomach, working up toward her breasts. She buried her fingers in his curls, encouraging his kisses with her quiet moaning. The Doctor's hands moved to Clara's thighs, his fingers tightening around her as he slid them upward to brush at her sex.

Clara moaned, "Doctor, please..."

He allowed the tip of one thumb to sink into her warmth, making small thrusts as Clara rolled her hips toward his hand. "Turn over, Clara," he said, his voice ragged with desire.

Never one to argue when The Doctor used that particular tone, she turned over to lay on her front. She felt The Doctor's hands trace up the backs of her thighs and over her ass to grip her hips. "Up," he said simply.

Clara got up on her hands and knees, moving back against him. She could feel the zip on The Doctor's trousers bite into the flesh of her backside as he moved his hips against her in tight circles. Reaching between them, The Doctor positioned himself so that he was barely penetrating her.

He licked at his lips, concentrating on the warmth of her, savoring the moment before he was sheathed within his Clara. She whimpered with need, the point of contact between their bodies tingled with electricity. The Doctor leaned forward, his hard shaft slipping a bit further into her, and kissed Clara's lower back, his tongue tracing her spine.

His hands still gripping her waist tightly, he inched his hips forward to bury himself within Clara's heat in an agonizingly slow movement that had them both panting. One hand sliding up Clara's back, his other still gripping her waist, The Doctor began a rhythm of long, slow, strokes that ended with a harder thrust. Clara gasped, groaning loudly, as the angle he was creating hit spots within her that began a slow spiral of warmth.

She took a deep breath, her chest heavy with the pleasure of The Doctor's movements. She sobbed with reaction, the feelings almost too much for her. The Doctor was chanting her name low and quiet against Clara's shoulder, the only words that seemed worthy of the moment. 

Pulling her up onto her knees, The Doctor thrust fully into Clara. She could feel the sparse hair of his chest rub against her bare back. His hand at her shoulder reached up to grasp her chin lightly, turning Clara's head toward the mirrors above her vanity. Clara watched in the mirror as The Doctor's hand slid down her front, palming her breast, squeezing gently as he thrust into her again with slow and steady movements.

His hand at her waist inched forward until his long and clever fingers were sliding against her heat. Moving between the lips of her sex, The Doctor's fingers found her stiff clit and began to circle it slowly while continuing to move inside her. "Beautiful, my love, Clara," he breathed into her ear as he watched their movements in the three mirrors.

Clara was surprised at the intensity of the heat that flooded through her body as their eyes met in the mirrored reflection. The passion that she saw in his eyes, coupled with his hands on her body, made Clara sob with need. Reaching behind her, Clara's hands gripped at his waist, pulling The Doctor into her, demanding, "Harder," she breathed.

Panting, giving her a toothy side grin, The Doctor complied. "Control freak," he sighed with affection. 

Pulling lightly at her slippery clit, he bucked his hips forward, hard and fast. Still holding her gaze in the mirror, The Doctor kissed Clara's shoulder, "Come for me, my Clara."

Her eyes went wide as her body began to shake against him. Groaning loudly, Clara stilled her movements, her eyes sliding closed as her pleasure overtook her. She felt The Doctor bite down into the flesh of her shoulder as his movements stopped and he moaned loudly taking his own release.

His arms came forward to pull her to him in a tight embrace as his forehead fell against her shoulder. The Doctor's lips kissed softly at the love bite he had left. "You think the biscuits are cool enough to eat?" he murmured against her skin.

Clara froze for a moment, as his words registered, and then broke out in peels of laughter. "Completely insufferable," she announced as she pulled away from him and fell to the bed.

The Doctor, laughing, lay down beside her and pulled her to him. "I worship all facets of you, my Clara," he told her. "Everything from your baking skills to other, more intimate, abilities." His hands traced over her bare skin, sending shivery aftershocks through her smaller frame.

She slapped at his hand playfully, "Get your own bloody biscuit," she told him.

Tucking himself away and zipping his trousers, The Doctor hopped up, "Biscuits in bed, then," he smiled and vanished to the kitchen. Clara's laughter followed his lanky form.


End file.
